


Expedition 12

by TheAnthropologist



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: If You Squint - Freeform, Inspiration from the film and novel of Annihilation, It's gonna get weird., Modern AU, Stormpilot, Tags updated as the story goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-04-03 21:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14005398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAnthropologist/pseuds/TheAnthropologist
Summary: A young geologist fresh out of field work gets pulled into becoming part of a mysterious expedition by a so-far unknown branch of the government. Among the crew are a biologist, an anthropologist, a psychologist, and a surveyor. None know what lies ahead of them, where they are going, or why.





	1. Preview

_Normally I would have complained but given the_ circumstances _I kept my comments to myself and began pulling my gear free from the heavy pack that I’d unceremoniously set off to the side against a tree. Our first camp was settled atop the highest hill, from my tent I could look down through and eventually see over the trees, back where we had been walking all day._  
 _The fire in the center of the small little settlement gave small light that could have helped me see where exactly we had crossed into this place. We had been advised that once we crossed into, we were not to look back._

_“Weird, isn’t it?” A voice to my side pulled my gaze quickly away from the forbidden direction_

_“What?”_

_“How far we’ve come. Doesn’t seem like it, does it?” The anthropologist of our team—he was friendly looking, I’d not yet seen him show an expression that bordered on negative. He was around mid-thirties, curly hair._

_As far as names, we had none during this trip. We were known as our professions regarding this_ expedition, _and nothing further._

 _Silently, I nodded my head. It was very weird, strange, and almost unbelievable. What had happened that was causing this loss_ in _memory and time? What was it that made me dread walking_ backwards _instead of further within?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a little preview of the first chapter, to see if anyone is even interested in reading something like this. And don't worry, when the actual chapters come, we'll find out who is who exactly.


	2. Part I

It started about six or seven years ago—the time exactly has never been revealed to us or the public. How it started was just as much a mystery as for why it started, but both remained just as unknown as it was destined to be to the rest of us on this planet. Do you ever ask why something is, or why something happened, something that is just _there_? The answer will probably scare you, you’ll turn away and try to forget you ever asked, or ever heard the actual answer. What answer you’ll accept or will never accept is the one you would be crafting for yourself. Contextually, it will make sense to you because you’ve had these memories and these experiences to make sense of it all. But it won’t be the answer. It will just be the explanation. Your answer. Your solution.

I was perfectly contented on accepting the answers they gave to me when I dare asked, but at the time I wasn’t content in searching deeper and finding what was being kept from the rest of us. I was smarter—or dumber—back then.

 

❦

 

The tree—one of the first things I’d seen as we walked into the area. It was the first thing I noticed, or rather, what I permitted myself to see. It was gnarled and twisted, yet perfectly straight up and down at the correct angle, a tree was supped to grow. Up and towards the sun. But there was something sick about this tree that caused it to look out of place, something unnatural about it that we had yet to even notice. The others walked on as I stood back and looked it up and down, making notations in my journal. I wasn’t the biologist, I was a geologist, so this tree was not up my alley of experience.  
Instead of calling her back, I finished making my notes and continued, so I did not lag.

By the mark of when we had first set out and crossed the border, it was a quarter past two o’clock. I was still shaken. We all were. But it had worn off for the most part by now.

Setting foot inside the barrier we had lost a few good hours in the blink of an eye. The leader of our group didn’t comment on it even when I had brought up the subject, everyone else seemed to have the same questions on their minds but when the inquiry was ignored, silence persisted, and we moved onwards.

Hard earth and gravel crunched beneath our boots as we traveled on the well-worn trails, passing by old metal and wooden signs as trail markers for hikers long passed. Peeking up, the sun was peeking back through the branches overhead as we began our first of many gradual uphill ascents. For walking for hours already I couldn’t bring myself to feel exhaustion start to kick in, but my back and legs were crying out in dull pain, carrying the weight of the travel pack and gear despite constant weeks of training for this.

Without a watch, it was hard to track how much time had passed, but we had crossed over the first crest when the sun had started its own descent downwards past the tree line. As the last rays of light filtered through the distant pines, we were told to stop and break for camp. That was easier said than done, regardless of how tired we all were—I had assumed—getting around in a slower, casual manner was harder than it would have been to keep walking until we collapsed.

Normally I would have complained but given the circumstances, I kept my comments to myself and began pulling my gear free from the heavy pack that I’d unceremoniously set off to the side against a tree. Our first camp was settled atop the highest hill, from my tent I could look down through and eventually see over the trees, back where we had been walking all day.  
The fire in the center of the small little settlement gave small light that could have helped me see where exactly we had crossed into this place. We had been advised that once we crossed into, we were not to look back.

“Weird, isn’t it?” A voice to my side pulled my gaze quickly away from the forbidden direction

“What?”

“How far we’ve come. Doesn’t seem like it, does it?” The anthropologist of our team—he was friendly looking, I’d not yet seen him show an expression that bordered on negative. He was around mid-thirties, curly hair.

As far as names, we had none during this trip. We were known as our professions regarding this expedition and nothing further.

Silently, I nodded my head. It was very weird, strange, and almost unbelievable. What had happened that was causing this loss in memory and time? What was it that made me dread walking backward instead of further within?

 

❦

 

The next morning, we were up and walking earlier than we had been previously. The air was crisp and cold against my lips and fingers as we walked, but my eyes never stopped trailing around the surrounding hills and trees and rocks. The sky was something else that I had not yet stopped to consider; as we walked deeper into this area, the sky was changing. Subtle unimportant things at first, but I was starting to wonder if it were just my eyes playing tricks or if the clouds had taken on a pinkish hue.

The others, as we hiked, had started acting differently as well.

Steps soon became as uneven and unsure as the colder the wind blew, the unease passing over each member of the small group as we finally started the descent down the other side.

Turning, I looked—had we just come from there? All the way up and down the other side?  
Having camped overnight, it somehow felt like days had passed us by. Thoughts passed through my head quickly yet as slow as if I were just waking up. Time passed, the sky had changed a subtler pink, yet it felt like we had only just begun the days’ hike

 

 

A weight.

Suddenly, my eyes opened, and I was sitting in a small tent, the one each of us had. Enough space to sleep and have our things out of the elements, but nothing more. The exterior of the tent vibrated and moved in the wind, and the sound of rain hitting the surface soon made it to my ears. It was colder.

Unzipping the entrance, I carefully took hold of the gun we were all given (as a form of safety and reassurance) and climbed through the small hole. The grass outside was walked and pressed down against the cold ground, rain still falling in a light shower and trees swayed in the winds that accompanied the weather. By the looks of things, it had been raining for a couple of hours, but the inside of my tent was bone dry without even a trace of mud or smell of wet grass.

I approached the others who were huddled a few yards away, discussing something in hushed tones, their own rain parkas and hoods over their bodies and heads, prepared for the elements.

“You’re awake.” The biologist spoke to me. She was a young woman, slightly pale in complexion, with mid-shoulder length brown hair, and a sharp nose.  
“Do _you_ remember making camp?”

“No,” I responded slowly, glancing at the others with confusion, but their own expressions told me enough.

“We don’t either.” Spoke the surveyor, a small, soft-spoken girl with dark hair. She spoke to me often, but our conversations never really went that far. For some reason, I just felt an unyielding amount of unease in this land that kept me from being able to speak up.

“None of us?” I pressed, brows furred, as the anthropologist hunched closer towards the ground, hugging his journal to his chest as he focused on either a blade of wet grass or nothing at all.

“No, but I have two days’ worth of recordings down in my book.” He spoke even lower, his expression not as much grim as it is…uncomfortable. “ _Two days._ ”

“So. . . We’ve been out here for _three_ days, but we can’t remember past the first night?”

Something did not feel right at all, and what only caught my attention all too late was the absence of our group leader—the psychologist. An older woman with a stern expression but soft voice, hard pressed for this mission and this alone, hardly spending any time around us before we set off into this place.  
“Where’d she go?” She, they would know who I meant.

“The hill crest.” The biologist nodded a way into the distance as she folded her arms over her chest, tensing and tightening how she stood as cold wind blew through again. Somewhere inside I had this longing feeling for the comfort of warm sunlight, but also this nagging sense that I had not felt it in so long. “She’s been there since before dawn.”

“What time is it now?” I asked, my voice so strangely calm. How was I so calm, I had only noticed that…everyone really was acting as calm as ever, but something drove fear into each one of us.

The paramedic, a mousy looking girl with blonde hair and just as stern an expression glanced at her watch “A quarter past one.”

Nodding slowly, I turned and returned to my tent, kneeling to start gathering my things. There had to be something in here that would yield answers, wouldn’t there be? Three days worth of travels and there wasn’t a scrap of evidence except for one journal—there had to be.  
Rummaging through my pack, I leafed through my own journal, which was now quite empty save a few notes.

Clothes, rolled and packed together.

Medical kit, still secured with the unbroken seal.

The two extra ammo cartridges, untouched.

Rations—. . .

 

With a quicker pace, I brought my things to the others, who regarded my presence again but slower as if there was a lag on their reaction time.

“Our rations.” I held up two wrappers for the protein bars we all had, folded and pushed deep into one of the inner pockets of the backpack.

Staring at my find, the surveyor was the first to pull her own bag off her back and start madly digging through until she too supplied with two wrappers. Soon, every one of us held the remains of rations gone. But just two, only two, nothing more.

“This isn’t right,” Biologist spoke up, her tone confused and almost angry “Two days, this couldn’t be enough for us for two days, how did we not notice?”

“I don’t _feel_ hungry.” The surveyor spoke with a tone that bordered on fear, worries are written all over her face as she slowly zipped her bag back and adjusted it so it sat properly on her back, even clipping the secure strap across her midsection.

“Sometimes. . .when I focus too hard on my work, I forget to eat.” We looked at the anthropologist, who was pushing his journal back into his pack and fixing everything, so he could prepare for another day of walking. Composure. “That’s all. We just got too anxious to eat more.”

 

 

 

“— _Then why have we forgotten_?”

My focus returned as I turned to my left as the biologist spoke, feeling my brows furred together already “What?”

 

She turned to look back at me, lips still slightly parted as if she were about to continue speaking but the look in her eyes was confused as I felt. There was a long silence between us even as I looked and noticed we were no longer standing in the windy clearing where our camp had been, but we were now farther ahead along an old, raised wooden pathway that was half sunken into the ground

“I. . .—I said something.”

A silent nod was my response, and she merely turned her head and her fist caught my attention, her knuckles white as she held in some sort of anger, a fury, had she truly forgotten what she said? We were just talking…

But that had to have been hours ago, because the light of the sky was turning, and the shadows were already pointed a different direction than the wind was blowing. The crackling in the trees was the only sound besides the joined sounds of our boots walking along wood and gravel.

For the remainder of the day my focus was on trying to piece together was happening and what we had forgotten. Ever so often I felt compelled to look up and count how many of us lay ahead or behind, keeping track of everyone ever so often as if when I looked up someone would be gone, and I suddenly couldn’t remember who.

 

 

❦

 

“I don’t remember what it was.” We all sat around close together that night, our tents pitched closer in proximity than before, a single lantern in the middle of our huddle for light as it had gotten warmer so there was no need for a fire yet. The biologist was still in a state of possible panic, and the anthropologist kept giving a sorrowful expression to her distress.

Still conversing over what we had been that morning, it was hard to keep track of what exactly that was or why we were discussing it, but the biologist was dead set on unraveling her mind.  
“It was like…we were talking and then suddenly we flashed forward but our conversation didn’t.”

“I think we should start writing down what we say,” The anthropologist offered, holding up his own journal. “I can keep track of the subject, and each of you write down what you said.”

All nodding in agreement, I turned to retrieve my own book when the surveyor caught my eye as she was messing with something in her hands, focus written on her face as the light from the lantern illuminated her features in an almost unsettling way.

“What are you doing?”

Receiving no response for a few lasting moments, she stood and walked to the nearest tree and placed the small object in her hands within the crook of a branch and the main, withered trunk.  
“My camcorder. I’m going to keep this here.”

“For what…?” The paramedic gave her an unreadable look

“For when we sleep.” She said simply, then looked down and nodded once, slowly “ _If_ we sleep.” She corrected herself.

I only nodded in agreement, holding my journal open at an angle so I could see what I was eagerly scribbling down, my eyes trained on each word with immense importance. _The camera in the tree. . .for when we sleep_. So far, the technology had been unresponsive, save for the watches, and the camera, which were both older and somehow managed to bypass the normal pattern of malfunctioning tools. But if we were able to record what happened whenever we would all have a lapse of memory, it could help us remain on top, and keep track of…each other.

“We should learn each other’s’ names.” The surveyor said suddenly, in a hushed tone, as she sat down beside me. An eager sparkle lit in her eye.

“Why?”

“Because.” Said so simply as if we were to just understand what that meant, but she leaned closer, in an even quieter tone close to a whisper “So we know exactly who said what. We can’t keep calling each other our professions, can we?”

“The psychologist said that wasn’t a good idea.” The biologist held a very uneasy tone to her words, hands still clutching her journal closed and even I took notice of her barely shaking arms. Was she cold, or afraid? I suppose we were all afraid, but this did make sense.

“I agree,” I finally spoke up “If we went missing, we would have to know who’s gone.”

Why did I say that? That strange feeling, a dream—was it a dream—that I would look upon our path and someone would be gone but their name was nothing more than dust on my tongue and a lapse in memory leaving no trace, and but an hour would pass, and they would no longer exist even in our memories, or what remained.

The anthropologist gave me an equal part sorrowful yet worried expression, but he too nodded in agreement.

“I’ll go first.” The surveyor spoke as if we were prepared to take a step onto the uneasy ground. The braver were often the lightest so not to fall in the ice. “My name is Rose.”

Before responding I wrote her name down, along with her profession, and a quick description of what she looked like, what she was wearing as if even this moment would soon be as fleeting as the past had been.

“I’m Rey.” The biologist spoke second, her words stiff and still as unsure as her face gave away.

“I’m Poe.” The anthropologist said, even managing to crack a very small, subtle smile.

“Connix.” The paramedic said, her tone still cold and stern, but at least she was playing along. Now we knew who she was. My hand writing at a mile a minute to make sure I wouldn’t lose a single second.

Then as silence overtook us, I looked up and wrote as I spoke: “I’m Finn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is going to switch perspectives as it goes, and I am so sorry if this is awkward to follow.


	3. Part II

The trail that led us out from our second—or was it third—base camp was heavily wooded, trees of all shapes and sizes now growing out of what was once perfectly healthy pine that reached far up into the sky. Now their once vibrant branches full of cones and needles were dried and decaying, or partially mutated with some other species of tree growing from within. It was the strangest phenomena, and the biologist—Rey—was both excited and extremely unnerved by the development.

“They’re all varied species growing from the same stalk, which is impossible.” She spoke as she slowly approached a tree, staring as she got closer and closer to a portion which looked like the bark had melted away and left behind a grotesque, cancerous mold of almost hypnotic colors and pattern.   
As quickly as she approached, she reached back and started to retrieve her small knife and a specimen sample vial, scraping the surface with varied levels of tension until a few scrapes were inside the glass cylinder, safely sealed and locked away.

“What could have caused it…?” Rose spoke up, her eyes never leaving the strange mutagenesis flora surrounding the area, even crouching down to get a better look at the abnormally curling ferns along the path. Weeds, flowers, grasses—all were somehow interlinked with completely other species which were as far as we knew, unknown and alien to these parts.

“Not that I know of…unless we’re talking genetic splicing which is only done in a contained lab or controlled area. Naturally occurring mutations are…common, we don’t even notice—but nothing like this…it isn’t biologically possible.”

Poe had, during this whole time, been diligently writing within his journal, only looking up at the sparse explanation “Why?”

“Because. It’s the same reason as to why a mule cannot breed and bear their own offspring—it’s already a mutant of two similar species, yes? But a mutant cell cannot replicate from another, you cannot expect a mule to breed with a zebra and create a new species, let alone a giraffe.”

“Giraffe isn’t a horse, is it?” I spoke, a slight tilt of my head as I was sat on a rock sticking out of the earth, quite interested in this little debate.

“No—they’re of the _Giraffidae_ family, only related to the Okapi.” Rey corrected, fixing another two samples of the grass and the flowers around us in the meantime “Different species of different families cannot interbreed, not in a natural environment.”

“But these have,” Poe pointed out, stepping closer and pointing with his pen then looking to all of us with this subtle yet excited smile “So whatever has been occurring here has rapidly caused a spark of naturally occurring mutations, in only a few short years, isn’t that fascinating?”

“To you, yes.” Rey said with a side glance at the older man, a cold and unfeeling smirk on her lips. Then a frown found its way across her features “But knowing the facts behind it, that’s the scary part. If something here, in this piece of land, is causing a rapid change in nature, then us being here is not good.”

I looked between them then down at my feet, just letting my eyes trace the shapes of my own footprints and seeing how the grass beneath had already started to curl back upright in unnatural symmetry, as if they were spring loaded and not structurally crushed.

“Are you suggesting we could be affected?” Connix spoke, her voice quiet but sullen, dry and monotone, hands wrapped securely around the shoulder straps of her pack.

“Since there hasn’t been any hard evidence from the inside collected since this started, I can’t say for sure, but since we’ve been here, I’ve observed a shit load of stuff to suggest…yes.” Rey shrugged and then started to walk ahead, her pace and posture making it obvious she was keen on leaving this conversation behind.

Rose stood from where she was crouched, looking at her hands and quickly wiping them off before collecting her glasses rag and wiping them down even further as if touching these things would seep into her skin and cause her to turn into something different.

“Hey,” I said as she started to pass, a look of panic in her eyes as she paused to look at me “I don’t think we could mutate into plants.”

Though I had intended my words be comforting to some degree, she just frowned deeper and marched on. Perhaps she had some sort of phobia, or perhaps she was believing what Rey had been saying. Rose was a surveyor, after all, dealing with nature was part of her job, not as much as my own, but she was still learned in this subject.

Standing from my own spot, I began to follow behind, with Poe catching up and Connix carrying the rear of our little group.

 

Further ahead, the Psychologist was already making better progress, and she must have stopped at some point to wait on us. In all this time together, never once did she really integrate into our conversations or stick around during social periods like food breaks or refreshers on water. She stayed to herself and led the party deeper into the wilds.  
The woman was from the Southern Reach, the group that was handling this situation and had been for the years since the public “knew” of it, but it was even as secretive as her, never really explaining in lamens terms what they were or who they worked for, or even what the mission statement was regarding this… _land_.

During the months leading into the expedition, I had only been in a few rooms of the base, eyes trained at someone else across a table or in my own isolated room, and even on rare occasions allowed to eat in the mess hall with everyone else. But we had never gotten to be social for long, it was mostly an experiment to see how we all worked together in the same room, not to get to know one another. If someone experienced some sort of strain or ill will, they would leave.

There was a man, part of an expedition before us, who had ventured into this place with only four others. In whispers, I knew little, but he was spoken of and his name written on files that I had only managed to gather a glimpse during regular meetings with the team preparing us.

His name was the Marine. Apparently, that was his profession. I had known this group gathered all types of people if they fit the bill on who was needed inside, and who wasn’t going to make it. So, it would only make sense someone with military experience would be inside here…a place like this. But I still couldn’t wrap my head around why they would need that kind of insurance. Was there something to defend against in here…?

“Do we…know anything about her?” I asked Poe as we sat close during the heat of the day, my eyes trained on the psychologist in the far distance.   
I knew Poe would be a good person to ask as he had been here the longest besides Connix, and he and I seemed to get along much better than I had anyone else, yet. He was insightful and sometimes had better observation skills than myself, but he was an anthropologist, his job was studying and understanding people.

“She’s a higher up with the Reach, and she was the one who personally picked each of us for this mission.” He started, looking down at his journal and flipping through a few pages—had he really written down information? “She had a son.”

“ _Had_?”

“While I was in her office, discussing things, she had pictures of herself and a younger man in multiple picture frames everywhere. She was younger in them and smiling, so my assumption is that she no longer has a son.”

 

❦

 

We settled down that night nearby a lake, the sound of the water lapping against the shore was calming for the time being, but tonight was the first night that worried and paranoid thoughts started to warp our minds to the idea that we weren’t alone in this land. It was only more or less confirmed when the psychologist said one of us was to volunteer to help keep watch of the camp perimeter. At this point, I wasn’t going to sleep easily, and my curiosity was getting the better of me, and ending up on watch with the remaining unknown of the group was reassuring.

I sat upon an old fallen tree, holding a rifle across my lap as the darkness around us was more deafening than the silence. The sounds of nature were also just as unsettling, given what we had realized only this morning, things around us were…not to be trusted.

“You’ve gotten comfortable with the others.” The first couple of words the psychologist spoke to me in days, it felt like, and my attention was pulled away from my wandering mind.

My furred brow was as much of a response as she needed, regardless of the darkness and her inability to see me or me to see her.

“You’ve gotten close and shared your names. You’ve chatted.” She said simply, her tone almost smug. Standing far enough away that I could not see her expression, I stayed as calm as I possibly could. Why did I feel so uneasy around her?

“It was for the best, so we can trust each other.” I supplied, slowly.

“Names don’t give you any sort of comfort, but you all keep telling yourselves that, I am sure it will help you out.” I could hear her footsteps rolling the gravel beneath her feet, walking a few paces to my right. “You haven’t asked for _my_ name yet.”

Was this some sort of trick? Did she want to push our idea of trust in my face and make me question one of the few pieces of security we had? Of course, she was a psychologist, it was only second nature for her to be able to pick apart someone and find what makes them tick and what makes then fall apart.

“You know my name already.” My hands, despite their cold, gripped my gun tighter.

“Of course, I do. You are Finn. You are the man I picked for this job, Finn.”

Biting the inside of my lip, I remained as silent as ever. What did her answer mean, really? Pointing out the obvious always struck me as some sort of tactic for misdirection, there was no point unless she had forgotten I even remembered the process.

“Do you know why?” She asked, out of thin air.

Thoughts halted, I looked right at her even through the tar black darkness, eyes unblinking “Why?” I found myself saying the word even when I knew I never wanted to know, if she was asking me at this point it was for a reason, she was holding something over my head. Or was this my unease talking and I was taking everything wrong?

“Because,” Suddenly she was sitting beside me on the log “You wanted me to.”

 

 

_You wanted me to_

Those words echoed in my head long into the morning hours. Lying awake that night after my shift was over, listening to the sounds of each member beginning their own watch. I was too wrought with unease to sleep, knowing that there was something just beneath the surface but something inside of me kept it from everyone else. At any time, I could have voiced my concern about the psychologist, even to Poe if nobody else, but would they even believe I had a reason? At this point even, my own reason was escaping reality, some made up explanation as a reason not to trust her.

 My thoughts lay pensive for the rest of our downtime, and through packing up, silence remained my only trusted ally.

After four days of walking through these wilds, we had finally come across something related to our mission, an anomaly within the one recorded map that had been acquired from a previous mission through. The land was drawn out in a slow, detailed manner—obviously done by the previous surveyor—but the area surrounding the lake was empty, lacking any notes that other locations contained.

But here, before our eyes was a _tower_.

It was round and semi-smooth, created from different matters of materials that all seemed local. Doing what I did, approaching the monolith and feeling its surface, it stood only a few feet off the ground, an amalgamation of sand and other crude things like river stone and pebbles, dirt, sticks, needles, sticking out. But it was also unnaturally symmetric, with an entrance large enough to walk _down_ into its base, into the darkness below.

This tower, even as unmarked on the map, gave no surprise to anyone here despite this being the first we’ve known of it’s existence.

“We should go inside,” I spoke up suddenly as if something was speaking for me and I was merely an observer.

I could feel the others’ eyes on me, burning into me, as I suggested such a thing. It was Rey who spoke first, her expression neutral

“Why do you think we should?”

Why shouldn’t we?

“It’s unmarked. Which means we’re the first to get here, the first to find this.” My hand slowly rubbed the side of the tunnel down into the tower, somehow feeling more and more eager to see what lay within.

“That makes no sense—we cannot be the first to be here,” Rose said, frustration lacing her voice as she held the map up, shaking it slightly as the wind blew through “This map is of the whole area, why would they leave this, obviously artificial tunnel, unmarked?”

_Tower_.

“Maybe they didn’t want anyone to find it,” the psychologist offered, then turned and just looked at the tower, eyes trailed down to the steps that led into the earth, how smooth and carved they looked to be. Done by a person?

“Which means that it’s potentially dangerous.” Poe concluded with a firm nod, holding onto his pack and taking a step backward, before giving me a near pleading look “Don’t you think we should mark this and look on our way back? We’re headed to the lighthouse, right?”

“I think we should explore the tunnel now, while we have the chance.” Connix spoke up, surprisingly eager as she stepped closer, some dust tumbling down inside.

_Not a tunnel. It’s a tower._

“Are we all going down there?” Interjecting, Rey stood her ground with a confused look, already starting to slide her pack off “Someone should stay watch, right? In case.”

Rose turned and almost seemed to challenge the other, defiantly holding her pack tighter against her back “In case what?”

I had no answers for sure and neither did Rey, but I had already placed my pack down against the side of the tower and held my gun within both hands, Connix having done the same, and Poe strange enough following suit, though not looking any more eager to join us.

“We’ll wait here.” Rey said simply, firmly, but stiffly, as if she had something forcing her to reassure us on our way.

Giving a nod, we begin the descent into the tower, following the steps down as darkness enveloped the three of us. Thankfully we had headlamps supplied and wearing them, their harsh beams illuminated only where they were directly pointed, so someone had to keep their eyes mostly trained to the ground and another straight ahead. Something about my unease only got worse as we traveled deeper in, like some heavy weight strangling myself and making me feel as if we were being watched.

What felt like hours had passed, before we got to the first landing of tunnels, and another set of steps ahead. But for now, this was the furthest we went, until a later exploration deeper. For now, I began to look around, my headlamp lighting up against the wall. It could have been my eyes playing tricks against the contrast of hard light and pitch darkness, but the walls were _moving_ , something on their surface—no, above, hovering—appearing before my eyes. A trick of the light?

Words. They were words appearing.

“Hey, guys! Come here—look at this.” I called urgently, barely turning away as not to cause the words to dissipate or stop.

_Where lies the strangling fruit. . ._

_that came from the hand of the sinner. . ._

_. . I shall bring forth the seeds of the dead_

_. . . to share with the worms_

 

They appeared before my eyes, scribed into the moving stone or the air above them in perfect scripture, something about them foreboding but exhilarating. This was exhilarating.

“What?” Connix stood just beside me, her lamp illuminating the same spot, but after a silent moment of my pointing to the words, she looked at me with a deep frown

“What? There’s nothing there—”

“You don’t see it?” I pressed, this time looking away and shining the light on her face. The look in her eyes was of fear, but her expression only helps the confusion.

“Finn, there’s nothing there.” Poe insisted “Did you see something…?”

Turning back to the wall, the words were slowly disappearing, melting into the quivering surface of the tunnel within the tower. They had not seen it, they hadn’t noticed the words writing themselves, but then, I would dare not say a word of this to them. Silence had been my ally to this point, and if my mentioning this would cause them to believe I was lying, I refrained.

“I…I thought I did. I guess it was a trick of the light.” I lied.

“Okay, well,” Connix stared at me with suspicion still as she stepped away, holding her rifle still as she motioned with the nose towards where we came “We haven’t found anything out of the ordinary, let’s get back to the others so we can keep moving.”

With a nod, we all began the trek upwards and out of the tower, my own breathing echoing off the enclosed space and echoing as if someone were breathing right against my ear. My grip tightened, and I kept staring forward without abandon, as if I knew something was just behind us at the landing, watching us leave so it may return to it’s writing. Diligent.

Once back to the surface, there never comes the question of what we found down in the tower, just silence as we all gathered our things and began our trek again, headed towards the lighthouse and the end of our mission—the _goal_ of our mission.


	4. Debrief: Session One

Glass stood between the person in the chair, singled out in the room alone, and multiple people outside. All of them leering and watching as if something was going to happen—expecting something to happen. This large, empty room was made for just one person, feeling like a rat in a cage or a fish in a tank, expected to do something spectacular, when in reality it couldn’t be further from.

Faced by someone on the other side of the room, they were wearing a suit of some kind. It was different than hazmat suits, more like a very sleek space suit. Regardless of what it was, there were protections laced within and around.

Protections from what?

            Unclear.

 

“Do you know how long you were inside?”   
The man in the suit spoke softly to the person in the chair, as if speaking to a child. The way he held himself however spoke levels about what was going on. Legs firm, arms slightly folded at his front. It was an assumed relaxed pose, but he was prepared to leave the room quickly if needed.

But why?

What was there to fear of this _one person_.

 

“No,”   
They answered, their voice echoed as if they were far away but confused by the inquiry. “Days… _weeks_ , maybe. At best.”

Looking away from their questioner, they scanned the thick glass pane separating them from their observants. They were all unnerved, staring unblinking at the subject. Like staring at a ghost, but a very much real, physical being sat there in the chair.

 

“You were inside for over four months,” The questioner prompted as they turned to face them once more, expression barely twitching at the revelation. Had

Had it been four months? It couldn’t have been, it…they—

“What happened to Kaydel Connix?”

“I…Don’t know.”

“Dameron? Oregana?”

“I don’t..know—”

“Then what _do_ you know?”

The pause was long and uncomfortable, the tense air thicker than the glass to their side. Expectant eyes drew in and the desperation of the matter suddenly felt like a dull knife digging into their arm, and the need to claw at the flesh and rid this horrible feeling grew more and more with each passing second. Memories echoed in their mind—all flawed and frayed—light trying to hard to remember clearly a dream—

            No. A _nightmare_.


End file.
